


To Belong

by TonightNoPoetryWillServe



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fluff and Angst, Laurence is a prince, M/M, Rating May Change, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27546250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TonightNoPoetryWillServe/pseuds/TonightNoPoetryWillServe
Summary: AU in which Laurence is born a prince but hates the position anyway, Tharkay is an outcast wanderer, and Temeraire is his fabulous self. The rest of the gang will show up eventually.Will draw from cannon and occasionally steal conversations from the books.
Relationships: William Laurence/Tenzing Tharkay
Comments: 16
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Meet cute. Unbeta'd AF.

“Of course the Admiral won’t be able to see you today—or tomorrow either. In fact, it may be a few weeks. Whatever are you thinking?” 

Tharkay blinked at the man. “A few weeks? Why such delay?”

The steward blinked back at him, equally confused. “Because of the prince, 'o course.”

“The prince,” Tharkay echoed. 

“Aye, he arrives any minute. The whole place is in an uproar. You may have run of the grounds and a room in the staff quarters while you wait—but come back later, aye?” And with that, the man hurried off.

Tharkay stared after him, beyond irritated. He did not want to stay in Britiania’s palace a minute longer than necessary. He had come only to deliver his report and collect his payment, and then intended to get back to the wilder places of the world, those that had always seemed to him far more civilized than what others considered polite society.

At least this explained all the hullaballoo. It had only increased in the two hours Tharkay had been waiting for the steward, only to be dismissed out of hand. People were rushing to and fro, and Tharkay ducked under a massive banner that two runners were barreling down the hallway. With a short sigh, he followed the general movement of the crowd. 

The courtyard was absolutely massive and beautifully decorated with glittering lanterns and silks, ladies and gentlemen all in their finest. Tharkay was still in his dirt-stained travel clothing. At the very least, he seemed to have timed this part quite well. Trumpets were blaring, and all eyes were turned toward the darkening sky in anticipation.

The roar was so loud it shook the ground and rang in his ears. There was utter silence in its wake, and then loud cheering as the massive black dragon landed in the cordoned off center of the courtyard. Tharkay nearly took a step back, even though he was some distance away. He had spent a good deal of time with the small ferals of the East, but this dragon was many times larger. He seemed almost a different species entirely.

“His Royal Highness, Prince William!” someone shouted, and the cheering continued. 

_Ah, that prince._ Prince William—third prince of the kingdom of Britainia, war hero, captain of a great Celestial dragon, Temeraire. Said prince waved to the crowds and the dragon reached around to carefully set the man down on the lawn. As he approached his father, King Allendale, he came better into Tharkay’s view. _Handsome devil,_ Tharkay thought. He had golden hair and glittering blue eyes, and carried himself more like a military man than a prince, movements more economical and less pompous. 

The ceremony was short, King Allendale receiving his son with dignity, but no warmth. Tharkay found himself idly wondering about Prince William. It was rare for royalty to do much of anything at all, but he was, in a sense, a spare—King Allendale had two other sons. Still, he might have gone to the church or found some quiet occupation.

Instead, he had become a great naval commander, and in the course of his duties had discovered—and harnessed—the Celestial. None of his brothers' dragons were nearly so impressive. It could have set him up as a potential rival for the crown, had he displayed any interest in ruling.

Tharkay amused himself with the notion that the elder brothers were probably quite jealous of the love this third prince had inspired in the country’s subjects. Indeed, while the bond with the dragon had necessitated that he give up his naval position, he was still winning battles from the air. 

Tharkay gave himself another few moments to watch the golden prince. Every inch of him was exactly correct, from his coat to his posture. Probably a dull man, after all. _And the reason I am stuck here for who knows how long._ He shook his head and slipped out toward the staff quarters, and his bed.

***

A few days later, Tharkay was turned away by the steward again. In his frustration—and desire to be away from the bustle of people—he wandered far enough that the palace itself was no longer visible.

He knew he’d be treated with fairly enough in time, but the delay rankled. He did not want to remain here any longer than he had to. _But of course, we must all wait for the damn prince to be feted._

The grounds were abominably large, and very fine. Still, he should probably have paid more attention to where he was going. He stopped short in shock when he realized where he was.

“Laurence? Oh, you are not Laurence. Do you know where he is?” The voice was deep and resonant, but petulant as well.

Tharkay blinked—he had accidentally wandered into Temeraire’s clearing, which was most decidedly off limits to anyone who did not have business to be there. Still, he felt frozen in place by the great blue gaze turned upon him.

It took Tharkay a moment to realize who “Laurence” must refer to. “I’m afraid I don’t know where his royal highness is at present. My apologies.”

“He has not come all morning!” The dragon furrowed the lawn with his claws, scraping up mounds of grass, his tail lashing.

“I am sure he is all right,” Tharkay responded evenly. “He normally comes each morning?”

“Of course, and many times throughout the day as well! After all, he much prefers to spend his time with me than with his family.”

Tharkay wondered with near horror what any member of the royal household might think at his overhearing this admission. “Surely if something had happened to him the castle would all be up in arms,” Tharkay tried, hoping to be reassuring. It was not a natural role for him.

“Oh, I suppose you are right,” the dragon admitted glumly. He fixed his eyes on Tharkay again, as if noticing him for the first time. “Who are you?”

“Tharkay.”

“Tharkay,” the dragon said, turning the name over in his massive jaws. “Do you work here?”

“On occasion. I am employed as an explorer and guide. I visit distant lands and report back on them.”

“Oh!” Temeraire sat back on his haunches, looking delighted. “Have you been anywhere terribly interesting? Would you tell me about it, perhaps?”

“I…” Tharkay knew he should flee immediately; he was not supposed to be here. But he was not sure if saying no to a dragon was not a worse course.

He was saved from responding by a fate worse still: the arrival of the prince himself. 

“Temeraire, my apologies for being so late,” the prince said, hurrying to his dragon’s side. He was even more beautiful up close. Tharkay would have thought the stiff set of his shoulders cause for alarm, if he had not been far more rigid at the ceremony. He shook off the unwelcome thought. _Too much time spent thinking about a man’s shoulders cannot do any good._

Temeraire nuzzled the prince affectionately. “Whatever has kept you, Laurence? I have made a new friend,” he added.

The prince paused in stroking the great black muzzle and turned, noticing Tharkay. “Have you now?” he asked, blue eyes taking him in.

Tharkay forced himself to bow. He did not speak; royalty never liked it when you spoke first. Tharkay knew he wasn’t supposed to meet the gaze when he rose, but he couldn’t help it, and hoped that his expression was blank rather than defiant.

“Yes,” said Temeraire excitedly. “He is an explorer, Laurence. Isn’t that wonderful? He was going to tell me about his travels.”

“My apologies for interrupting. Won’t you sit down, Mr..?”

“Tharkay,” he breathed out, looking from man to dragon in some confusion. “Your highness, I must beg your pardon..." But he did not know what else to say.

“Please, there’s no need for pardon when no offense has been given. Indeed, I must thank you for keeping Temeraire company.”

“I—I see,” said Tharkay. But he did not, not really. Was the prince mocking him? But his gaze held no hint of it. 

The prince continued: “Although I would ask if you did not have some other business that brought you here, or somewhere else to be?”

It was an interrogation, albeit an extremely polite one. “I was merely wandering, lost in thought, and quite accidentally stumbled on Temeraire’s clearing,” he replied, concluding that honestly was likely best here. 

Tharkay submitted himself to the prince’s evaluating gaze, and was met with small nod. He had apparently passed inspection, and tried not to dwell on what would have happened had he failed.

“Laurence—was something the matter?” Temeraire broke in, suddenly remembering his earlier distress. “You are quite late today. Has your family been rude again?”

“It’s nothing, my dear. I will explain later,” the prince said, settling himself comfortably on Temeraire’s forearm. Tharkay ignored that he’d overheard a very inappropriate question and merely stared, waiting to be dismissed. Instead, the prince said, “Let us hear some stories of Mr. Tharkay’s adventures, if it is not too much trouble?” 

This last was directed at Tharkay, who forced his mind to calm, and nodded. He sat down on one of the benches scattered around the edge of the clearing, took a deep breath, and began.

Temeraire and the prince were an excellent audience, Temeraire visibly delighted by the stories and asking a great many questions; the prince less vivacious but an excellent conversationalist all the same. The prince never treated him with anything but respect, never mocked his clearly foreign features. He was unfailingly polite and proper—and yet the emotion between him and his dragon was quite clear. Temeraire adored the man, and the prince adored him in turn. Tharkay felt himself growing more relaxed than he had any right to be in their company. 

After a time, Temeraire’s lids grew heavy, and he proclaimed himself ready for a nap. “Can we go flying this afternoon, Laurence? And may Tharkay come back to visit us again?”

“Of course, my dear,” the prince said, and with that the dragon closed his eyes and began to snore.

Laurence’s gaze fixed on Tharkay once more. “You have my thanks, Mr. Tharkay. It was very kind of you to share such stories—Temeraire and I both enjoyed your company immensely. I’m sorry to have kept you so long when you must have other matters to attend to.” 

“Not at all, your highness,” Tharkay replied. Still, it was clearly a dismissal, and he stood.

The prince's next words were a further shock. “Would you wish to come back and speak with us further tomorrow? There will be no repercussions if you refuse.” It would have been patronizing, were it not necessary to say. The prince could of course command his presence. “Though Temeraire will undoubtedly be disappointed.” 

_And you?_ Tharkay wondered, but it would be impudent to ask. “Far be it from me to disappoint a Celestial,” he said softly.

The prince smiled. “Tomorrow, then.” _What in the world am I getting myself into?_ he wondered. He could not think the prince meant him any harm—if he did, there would be no need for him to dissemble about it. _But that does not mean I am safe here._

***

When Tharkay arrived the next day, the prince was perched on Temeraire’s leg, reading to him, some treatise on mathematics.

“Tharkay!” Temeraire cried joyfully when he approached.

“Come to rescue me from the _Principia Mathematica_ , I pray?” the prince asked.

Tharkay allowed himself a small smile, and bowed. “Temeraire, your highness.”

Laurence frowned. “ _Your highness_ will not suit in this setting. I’d prefer you address me as Laurence—or Captain Laurence if that is more comfortable.”

“He hates it,” Temeraire said, conspiratorially. “And he is a Captain, anyway, as well as a prince,” he added, his pride in both accomplishments very evident.

“Very well… Captain,” he tested the word in his mouth. _Laurence,_ he said to himself.

“Please, sit, Mr. Tharkay,” Laurence said, and Tharkay noted that the bench had been moved closer to Temeraire than it was yesterday. 

“What stories will you tell us today?” Temeraire demanded.

Tharkay had given some thought to this, and decided to tell them about the feral dragons he met crossing the great wilds of the east. Temeraire hung on his every word.

“You mean they have their own languages? Perhaps you could teach me—no one could say we are nothing but beasts, if we had our own language.”

“No one with any sense would say it regardless,” Laurence said, tone mild enough, but there was an undercurrent that gave Tharkay pause.

“That would only assure them that you’re beasts,” Tharkay put in. “You’d do much better to emulate the tones of your prince.”

This seemed almost to embarrass the man, who brushed it off. The conversation continued, but Tharkay found his mind stuck on the small exchange: that a member of the royal family would be considering draconic rights at all was shocking. And that the prince seemed to trust him with this information was stranger still. But Tharkay knew better than to imagine it signified anything of real importance. Laurence clearly loved Temeraire, and Tharkay entertained him. That was all.

***

This continued for nearly two weeks, Tharkay making his daily sojourn to sit with the prince and his dragon. Laurence was encouraged by Temeraire to tell stories as well, and Tharkay found it impossible to dislike the man. He almost forgot, sometimes, that he was a prince, and as far above Tharkay’s station as could be imagined. 

One morning, he arrived to find the clearing abuzz with activity. Temeraire, usually wearing only a great pearl pendant on a chain, donned a full harness. It was trimmed with gold and very handsome. The dragon himself nosed at it, murmuring in approval. 

Catching sight of him, Laurence waved him closer. He felt very out of place among the grounds crew, but stepped forward all the same.

“What do you think of my new harness, Tharkay?” Temeraire asked. “And what is that you’re holding?”

“It’s lovely,” Tharkay said a bit dryly. He had in his hands a rather large book of maps that he thought Temeraire might enjoy, but he felt oddly foolish about it now. “Oh, just a book I thought you might enjoy. It can wait until later.”

“A book? That is very handsome of you,” Temeraire said, delighted. 

Laurence had been inspecting the harness with care. He now took a step back. “How does it lie?”

Temeraire reared up on his hind legs, flapping his great wings, and then landed back on his front legs, sending a small tremor through the clearing. “All lies well,” he said pleased. “I am ready.”

Facing Tharkay fully for the first time since his arrival a few moments before, Laurence gave him a gentle smile. “Would you like to go flying with us?”

Tharkay stared. Surely it was not permitted for anyone other than royalty—or Temeraire’s war crew—to ride him. But just as surely, whatever Laurence wanted was allowed, especially when Temeraire said eagerly, “Yes, would you come?”

“I… Of course,” he said, trying to mask the odd flood of emotions. 

“Capital,” said Laurence. “But you’ll be much too cold in that. Let me get you a coat—” And then Prince William Laurence was gently setting aside the book he’d brought, pulling a very fine green coat out of a nearby box of supplies, and helping him into it, as if he were a damn valet and Tharkay the royal. The coat was finer than anything Tharkay owned, and had just been lying about with the general supplies.

As Laurence’s fingers glided over Tharkay’s arms, he felt his breath catch, and tamped down on the desire to deeply inhale the prince’s scent. He smelled like the sun. _This is not good._

Laurence also helped him into a sort of harness of his own. “This?” he said, squeezing his finger to show how the carabiner opened and closed. “Stays locked on the harness at all times. Do not, under any circumstances, unclip while we are in the air. Temeraire might be able to catch you if you fall, but let us not take the risk.”

Tharkay nodded, and then Laurence was being lifted up by Temeraire, and clipping himself on. Temeraire set out a giant hand, and Tharkay stepped into it gingerly, to be lifted up ever so gently on to the dragon’s back. He clipped in, and Laurence checked it. 

The groundcrew backed away, and bowed low. 

“Temeraire, when you are ready.”

Temeraire launched himself into the air, and then they were flying. It was unlike anything Tharkay had ever experienced. Temeraire was faster than any ship or horse, and the wind was loud enough to drown out his racing heart.

The world looked quite different from above. They wheeled over the palace and out toward the sea, Laurence pointing out landmarks as they went. Tharkay’s eyes roamed over the land, rich and verdant, and then came to rest on Laurence. His cue was streaming out behind him, a few escaped locks of hair fluttering over his forehead, his cheeks red from the wind. He looked undeniably beautiful.

Temeraire dove toward the sea and Tharkay let out a near-silent gasp, and then felt a faint spray of seawater as Temeraire seized a giant tunny and then raced quickly upwards again to eat it. 

Laurence let out one of his rare laughs. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said, turning to Tharkay.

Tharkay could only nod. Because even as he was flying, he was falling, a sinking feeling in his chest. _Don’t look at me like that. Like you trust me. Like I belong here. I know very well that I do not._

***

Temeraire loved the book, but to his surprise Laurence seemed to love it just as much. It was the last straw, and when later that day an old acquaintance offered him a week’s work that would get him away from the palace—since apparently the Admiral _still_ didn’t have time to meet with him—he took it.

He briefly considered telling Laurence and Temeraire, but discarded the thought. They did not care. He would not want them to.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tharkay and Laurence muddle toward friendship, and then they’re rather rudely reminded that there’s still a war on.
> 
> Struggled with this chapter, but wanted to move on so it’s up even though I’m not totally happy with. Still unbeta’d AF. Also the places are vaguely inspired by the locations from the book, but it's meant to be more fairy-taleish... even though it doesn't feel that way at all. Whoops.

Tharkay found himself quite exhausted upon his return to the palace grounds. He forced himself to go to the steward nonetheless, and found his reception quite markedly improved.

“Begging your pardon, Mr. Tharkay. I’ve your payment right here,” the man said, reaching behind his desk to pull it out. “Along with a bit ‘o extra fer yer troubles. The Admiral is out just now. Might you come back just before the dinner hour?”

“That is acceptable,” Tharkay said smoothly, wondering at this sudden turnabout. It gave him rather an uneasy feeling. He shook it off and went to his quarters, intending to fall immediately asleep, but found himself restless. After a fitful few hours during which sleep would not come, he rose with a sigh and went to meet with the Admiral.

Admiral Lenton eyed him a bit oddly, but took his report easily enough, and then said, “I may have an assignment for you, to travel to Alia and pick up some dragon eggs the Sultan has agreed to gift us—which will be quite critical to the war effort. But you’ll need to speak with the man you’ll be escorting first.”

“And who would that be?”

“Prince William Laurence,” Lenton replied, and Tharkay resisted the urge to cringe. He had tried—and failed—to put the golden prince and his dragon from his head. “A problem?” Lenton continued.

“Not at all.”

“In that case, I’ll have someone escort you to him.” 

“What, now?” Tharky asked.

“And why not? It doesn’t do to keep royalty waiting.” Lenton called to an aide, who immediately led Tharkay away. As they walked down the corridors, he struggled to parse his own emotions. Why did seeing Laurence again fill him with both anticipation and dread? 

The walk was long, but not long enough, and he was shortly ushered into a small but beautifully appointed study. Laurence was standing before him, shoulders as rigid as Tharkay had ever seen them.

“Your highness,” he breathed out, and Laurence did not correct him. “My apologies if I have kept you waiting?”

“There is no need to apologize for _that_ ,” Laurence said coldly, emphasizing the final word very slightly. “Lenton tells me I could ask for no better guide to Alia,” he continued, sounding as if he did not much believe it. 

Tharkay realized with a start that he was furious. 

“However, I am not sure I can trust a man who vanishes without a word.”

Tharkay stared. He had not expected Laurence to much mark or care about his absence. Why would he? Why would anyone? “I apologize for the sudden departure," he said carefully, “but a last-minute opportunity arose. Was I expected to remain here indefinitely?”

“Of course not, but you could have sent word. And why the devil did you not tell me the admiralty was giving you the runaround? Surely you knew I could have helped.”

 _Ah._ That explained the changed behavior of the steward. It should perhaps have pleased him, but instead it filled him with anger. He had not needed or wanted aid. “Should I have imposed upon your goodwill instead of assuming it would give you cause to doubt me, when apparently you have ample cause already?”

“It would seem you want to be doubted,” Laurence said darkly.

Forgetting himself, Tharkay replied with more heat than he intended. “I have long since been taught that my descent bars me from even that fellowship and trust I might have expected, and surely I had no claim to _yours,_ your highness. And if I am not to be trusted, I would rather provoke a little open suspicion than endure endless slights and whispers not quite hidden behind my back.” 

“Am I meant to take these charges as laid to my own account?” Laurence demanded hotly. “And have I truly given you the impression that you have no claim on my fellowship?”

“No,” Tharkay said quickly, trying to master himself. Some horrified whisper in the back of his mind told him that arguing like this with a prince was a very good way to get himself killed. “No, I beg your pardon for my vehemence. You have shown me nothing but kindness.” He could not keep bitterness from his voice.

Laurence, catching sight of the look in his eyes, looked as if he'd been struck. “No, no it is I who must beg pardon, for allowing my anger to so get the better of me. Please… please know that you need never fear anything from me.”

They stood in silence for a moment, and then Laurence continued in a soft voice. “It is only… I was concerned that some ill fortune might have befallen you. Temeraire was ready to tear the place asunder in search of you.” Tharkay winced. “And... I had thought us friends. It may surprise you to know I have rather few of those in this place.”

Temeraire had let slip often enough Laurence’s discontent with life in the palace. But Laurence naming them friends did surprise him. “Friends,” he echoed softly. He felt very foolish indeed. It had never crossed his mind that Laurence might _worry_ for him. And perhaps it was not worry, after all, but only the expectation of royalty that he should be at Laurence’s beck and call. But no, that was an unjust thought. 

“I would not wish to force my association on one who does not wish it, and I am sure Admiral Lenton can find some other work for you if you do not wish to accompany us to Alia."

“Do _you_ wish me to accompany you?” He would not force his own association, either.

“I would require your word not to disappear without notice. And let there be no confusion: I will offer no less than full measure of loyalty to any man who gives me his.” He extended his hand, and Tharkay, almost shocking himself, took it.

It was a paradoxical feeling: his spirits lifted, but something unpleasant tugged at the edge of his consciousness. Something that told him it was not at all true that he had nothing to fear.

***

Laurence insisted that Tharkay come at once to see Temeraire. “Oh!” the dragon said, sitting up. “You have come back. Laurence said you might not.”

Tharkay was growing very tired of the emotions these two managed to provoke. “I apologize. I was called away rather suddenly.” 

“You might have sent word,” Temeraire reproved. “I was very worried for you. You humans are all very fragile, and quite often getting yourself injured or worse.”

“I _am_ sorry, Temeraire,” he said again, and meant it. “I will send word next time.”

Temeraire accepted this, and smiled in his draconic way. Laurence also looked pleased.

And so Tharkay resumed his visits as they prepared for the journey. It was not entirely an easy peace, but Tharkay found, to his great surprise, that he trusted Laurence’s word, and that as the days went by, he truly began to trust Laurence’s promise of fellowship.

One day after the dragon had dozed off, he found the man looking at him rather uncertainly. “I wonder if I might beg your assistance with something.” 

“You should hardly need to beg,” Tharkay replied, arching one eyebrow. And really, he was far too comfortable if he was teasing the man. 

Laurence had grown used to Tharkay’s sardonic manner, and merely smiled. Together they made their way back to the palace, and on the way Laurence’s retinue materialized around them. From Tharkay’s understanding, they accompanied him whenever he was not with Temeraire—or at war—though it seemed quite unlikely any harm would come to him here. Tharkay suspected they were more to protect him from the affections of his people than otherwise.

They met with some curious stares, which Laurence ignored, but he returned the wave of a gaggle of giggling children. Soon, they had passed through the more public areas of the palace and through a long corridor where their footsteps echoed in the silence. Finally, Laurence led him into a basement room filled with books, papers, and scrolls, all neatly arranged. The retinue remained respectfully outside. 

“I collect maps,” Laurence said once the door was closed, as if it were an admission. “And have been making some of my own based on the parts of the world I’ve had opportunity to visit. But our conversations have led me to believe you have far greater knowledge and might be able to correct my errors.” There was something oddly diffident in Laurence’s request. 

“Is this for our journey to Alia?”

“No, I’ve not yet had the opportunity to go there. This is merely... a personal request.” 

Tharkay was more than willing to oblige. He looked over the maps Laurence had apparently drafted in his own neat hand. “I see,” he said softly, impressed in spite of himself. Of course Laurence would have excellent penmanship, and an eye for distances. “Would you prefer I make annotations directly on these?”

“If you please,” Laurence said, eyes very intent, and Tharkay had to drag his gaze away and back to the maps. It was only the second time he and Laurence had spent any time together indoors, away from Temeraire, and the first had been tense for a different reason. This—this he found oddly intoxicating. 

He had tried to ignore these feelings, but as he watched Laurence’s long, pale fingers point to different locations on the parchment, he couldn't help imagining what they’d feel like sliding along his throat and chest. 

Would Laurence make love like he did everything else, generous and proper? Or would that military countenance be stripped away, revealing a deeply passionate man beneath? What would he sound like in the throes of passion? Tharkay would never know, of course, so he allowed himself the fantasies of shoving Laurence down on the table, scattering the precise maps, and kissing along his jaw. He imagined surprise lighting up those blue eyes, and then desire darkening them.

Tharky could not help wondering idly what this very honorable, very proper man would think of the very improper thoughts he inspired. He didn’t think Laurence would act with vengeance, despite the impropriety; it was likely he would simply excuse himself and maintain polite distance. 

With a short sigh, he pushed the thoughts away. Perhaps he ought to find a companion. This inappropriate desire toward a man who would never desire him in return could not be healthy. 

“Whatever was it that brought you to the Ivory Isles?” Tharkay asked, eyeing one of the maps.

To his surprise, Laurence’s face flushed attractively. “Well,” he started, and then paused. 

“Will you leave me in suspense?” 

“No, no I suppose not…” He huffed. “The king had hoped for a match between myself and the Ivory King’s daughter.”

Tharkay’s eyebrows shot up, filing away the information that Laurence referred to his father by his title in favor of the more interesting line of questioning: “And yet you remain unwed.”

“It did not go well,” Laurence said shortly. “Temeraire… was much displeased with the notion.”

Tharkay laughed, and to his great pleasure Laurence smiled. _Friends,_ he reminded himself. Surely that was more than enough. It was certainly far more than he was used to.

**

When the day came for their departure, Lenton saw them off. He and Laurence had an easy comradery—military men, Tharkay supposed. Or perhaps Laurence just had a way with people—people outside his family, that was. “I will trust you to bring his highness back in one piece.”

Tharkay nodded his agreement, and they climbed aboard for the second flight of their acquaintance. Apparently, most of Temeraire’s crew had not accompanied them to the palace grounds. Tharkay did not quite understand why, but the first part of their journey would be to retrieve them from a military installation. So for the moment, they were alone. 

As Temeraire launched into the air, Tharkay breathed in deep. It was still a rush. There wasn’t much visibility as it was a cloudy day, and Tharkay felt the dampness closing in around them, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind. Instead he merely enjoyed the feel of the wind rushing through his hair, and the sight of Laurence beside him, looking as comfortable as Tharkay had ever seen him. 

That is, right up until the moment the large blue dragon nearly slammed into them.

“Temeraire! To port!” Laurence cried, and Temeraire twisted artfully away. “What the hell are the Gauls doing so far inland?”

Temeraire roared so loudly that Tharkay felt the sound echoing in his ears, and then the dragon was diving under another dragon and coming swiftly back up again. Laurence managed to get up a signal flare calling for aid, but there were seven enemy dragons, and they were all alone.

“Ware boarders!” Laurence cried as another dragon managed to pass close enough to deposit a group onto Temeraire’s back. And then he was truly in battle. Tharkay was not used to fighting dragon-back, but he managed to keep his footing as he slashed one of the enemy soldiers across the chest. Another made a grab for him, but he ducked, slipping as Temeraire tried to shake the men off. The one who was attacking Tharkay slid screaming off the slick dragon hide. He kicked off another, and then turned in horror to see the sword falling from Laurence’s hands.

Two enemy soldiers had their swords placed against Laurence’s chest. They had managed to clip themselves to Temeraire’s harness. _They cannot kill him,_ Tharkay reminded himself. _This is how they capture dragons, by capturing their captains._

“Laurence!” Temeraire cried in distress.

“You will surrender, sir, you and your beast,” one of the men said, triumphant.

Laurence’s eyes met Tharkay’s. He looked deeply sad. Then Laurence turned his eyes back to the soldiers before him. “I think not, sir.”

“What?” 

Roaring out Temeraire’s name, Laurence jumped. Tharkay realized with horror that Laurence had undone his carabiner and was now hurtling freefall toward the ground, hundreds of feet below.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! Real life has been crazy.

The world fell out from under him. They dropped like a stone—faster. Much faster than Tharkay had any inclination that Temeriare could fly. He lost his footing immediately, the momentum flinging him upward and the harness jerking him sharply. He had the forbearance to brace himself—at some point Temeraire would stop diving. For now, he willed the dragon to be faster still, the image of Laurence’s eyes burned into his memory. 

The world shrunk to wind and black scales, and then suddenly Temeraire leveled out, still moving with unbelievable speed. Tharkay slammed into the dragon’s back, feeling dazed but not injured, and hung on, not even trying to rise from his prone position.

“Laurence!” Temeraire cried, sounding on the verge of tears, as he lifted a great taloned hand. The prince lay in his grasp, eyes closed.

A chorus of noise from above drew Tharkay’s attention, and he looked up to see another formation of dragons engaging their attackers. One of the new dragons broke away and flew down to them.

“Temeraire! What’s going on?” the other dragon’s Captain cried. 

“It’s Laurence! He breathes but he will not wake. He jumped to keep us from being captured. Oh, Laurence, why would you do such a thing?” Temeraire’s voice quivered with despair and rage. The yellow dragon that had come to meet them shuddered in empathetic horror.

“Any boarders remaining?”

Tharkay looked to the enemy soldiers on Temeraire’s back. Both seemed to have been knocked unconscious in the dive. 

“I’ll handle them,” Tharkay yelled, creeping forward. The Captain looked a bit startled upon seeing him, but when Temeraire didn’t react negatively to his words or his presence, said nothing as Tharkay moved up to them and cut them loose, pushing them unceremoniously off Temeraire’s back. 

Once they were gone, the other Captain said, “Get to the covert.”

Temeraire didn’t need telling twice, and flew with haste. It seemed to take an eternity for them to arrive, but Tharkay did not trust his notion of time at present. Temeraire landed carefully in a large clearing before a great stone building. “Help! Laurence has been injured!”

The covert seemed to be on alert—this must be where the other dragons had come from to aid them, perhaps having seen Laurence’s signal flare. 

Tharkay slid down his side and went to Laurence, still held in Temeraire’s giant taloned hand, which rested now on the ground. The prince was indeed still breathing, but looked battered and bruised from the fall, and was still unconscious. Tharkay’s hands quickly moved over his body, looking for severe injuries. Much was bruised, but thankfully nothing seemed broken.

Suddenly a group of men was running toward them, led by a tall, lanky man with brown hair. “Temeraire, what’s going on?” the man shouted. 

“Oh Granby, it is terrible. Laurence jumped mid-flight to save me from capture, and now he will not wake.”

The man went very pale. “Why, that damned fool!” He dropped down beside Tharkay and then did a double take on seeing Tharkay’s face. “Who are you?” he asked, openly suspicious. 

Tharkay was quite inured to such reactions, but had no patience for them at present. Thankfully, Temeraire answered for him. “Tharkay is our friend—mine and Laurence’s.”

And then the suspicion was gone, as quickly as it came. “Good enough for me. Keynes, there you are! Laurence is hurt.”

“Move aside, move aside,” the man—clearly a doctor—said, running his hands over Laurence to check for injuries. 

“Will he live?” Temeraire’s panicked voice broke in.

“Seems likely,” the newcomer said, similarly checking him over. “Let’s get him inside.” And then many hands were lifting Laurence. _His crew,_ Tharkay realized, carrying him away inside. He wanted desperately to follow, but felt acutely that he was not needed and perhaps not wanted. 

Temeraire moved his body forward toward the door, as if he might crawl inside—an absurd notion when the door was smaller than his head—and keened softly.

Tharkay hesitated, then put a comforting hand on the side of Temeraire’s head, as he’d seen Laurence do before. 

“It was so foolish,” Temeraire lamented. “We would have escaped eventually. Why did he do it?”

“To protect you, I am sure.” Tharkay had needed no further proof of the love Laurence had for his dragon, but even though he wasn’t surprised by the man’s devotion, he was surprised by his own reaction to it: he almost felt angry. What business did Laurence have throwing himself off in mid-air? He could easily have died.

“He is always like this. Always risking his life.” Temeraire laid his head down on the ground. “Jane says it is because he cannot stand that his life has been valued above others, but that is no good reason to go throwing it away!”

Tharkay didn’t know who Jane was—curiosity on that front would likely return later—but he found a compelling truth in Temeraire’s words. Of course, Laurence had grown up being treated as valued beyond ordinary human beings—it was perhaps unsurprising that he had come to hate the role.

“Will you help me keep him safe?” Temeraire asked miserably. 

This question was easy to answer: “I will do my damndest.” 

Temeraire nosed him a bit, affectionate and worried.

Eventually the crew came back, grumbling at having been kicked out, but assuring Temeraire that the doctor said he would be fine. Tharkay’s eyes flicked over them a bit curiously. Most aviator crews were noblemen, but Granby’s peasant accent was unmistakable; there were two young boys who clearly came from the Ivory Isles; and one of the ensigns was a woman. An eclectic mix indeed. But then, it was clear that Laurence was willing to see past people’s birth, as he had done for Tharkay.

It was equally clear that the crew loved him, and Temeraire. Their hushed discussions spoke of genuine concern for his welfare. 

An aide came a few minutes later, and addressed him directly. “Mr. Tharkay?” 

“Yes?”

“Captain Laurence has arranged quarters for you. If you’ll follow me…”

Tharkay was loath to leave Temeraire, but he quietly assured the dragon he would find a way to check on Laurence and then come back to him.

He waited only a few minutes in the simple but adequate room before going in search of Laurence. Laurence’s room was guarded, which he shouldn’t have found surprising.

“I need to see his royal highness,” Tharkay said, trying to project a confidence he did not feel.

The guard just shook his head, shifting into a more aggressive stance.

Tharkay felt something inside him clench. He knew that things would be different once they’d left Temeraire’s peaceful clearing, but this was still hard to take. “I was with him during the battle. I just want to see that he’s all right.”

The door opened to reveal Granby, who looked at him a moment before saying, “He can come in.” The guard frowned but stepped aside to allow Tharkay entrance. Together they walked to Laurence’s bed. Laurence’s face was relaxed in sleep. It made him look younger. Tharkay’s eyes roamed over him, wanting to reassure himself of Laurence’s health. 

Granby looked at him a moment, and then said softly, “You’re our guide to Alia.”

“Yes.”

“Now you see what you’re dealing with,” he said, jerking his head in Laurence’s direction.

“Yes. I will be on my guard for further attempts at martyrdom.” 

That earned him a soft snort of laughter.

Then Laurence groaned, his face creasing with pain. He mumbled slightly, eyes fluttering open to take in the pair of them. “Temeraire?” he croaked.

“Is fine,” Tharkay said firmly. “Though not pleased with you for taking such a risk.”

“Had to,” Laurence muttered. “Couldn’t… let them..” It made something inside him ache, to see Laurence like this. 

“Will, don’t try to speak,” Granby said, dropping to his knees beside the bed.

“Couldn’t let them take him,” Laurence continued. “Not when he fights—fights for me.”

Tharkay’s brow creased, trying to parse the meaning of the words.

“Rest now. You’ll be okay, and so will Temeraire.”

Granby smoothed loose hairs back from his forehead, and Tharkay’s eyes widened a bit at the casual way he touched the prince, whom he apparently had the right to call by his given name. 

Laurence muttered something unintelligible as his eyes drifted closed. Tharkay stared at his face, still creased with worry, and tried to quell the roiling emotions running through him—the concern, the anger, the affection, something else he refused to name.

He and Granby left the room and walked down the hall in silence. Then Granby let out a hoarse sigh and turned to him. “I’m Lieutenant John Granby, Laurence’s first lieutenant.” He offered a hand, which Tharkay took. And just like that, it seemed, he was accepted. Laurence and Temeraire’s regard opened doors that had remained closed his entire life. 

***

Tharkay awoke with the dawn. He was used to waking in unknown places, and stood quickly to dress and slip down to Laurence’s room. The guard allowed him entrance with only a small frown; it seemed word had gotten around that he was allowed.

Laurence was in the process of trying to rise; it was clearly a struggle. Tharkay hurried to his side and put a hand on Laurence’s shoulder, marveling at his own daring as he gently supported Laurence to sit up. He didn’t want to remove his hand, but Laurence was sitting on his own, albeit looking exhausted by the effort. “How do you feel?” Tharkay asked, taking the chair beside the bed.

“Like I jumped off Temeraire’s back without a harness.”

Tharkay huffed slightly. “Perhaps this will dissuade you from repeating such a foolish action in the future.”

Laurence’s eyes focused on him, clearly surprised. “I could not allow him to be taken captive.” 

“I think all involved would have found that course preferable to your death,” Tharkay answered softly.

There was a beat of silence between them, Laurence looking at him with far-too-discerning eyes and a flush on his cheeks that might have been illness or embarrassment or anger, he was not sure. “I did what I thought necessary,” he said softly. “I hope never to find it necessary again. That will have to be good enough—for _all involved._ Now come, help me up so that I may go reassure Temeraire.”

Tharkay was more than happy to oblige, and hated himself a little for enjoying the feel of Laurence pressed against him as he helped the man to his feet. Laurence tried to take a step and nearly fell, Tharkay catching him with one hand around his waist and the other on his wrist. “Lean on me,” he instructed gently.

Laurence sighed softly but obeyed, allowing Tharkay to support him out of the room.

The guard looked mildly scandalized but did not comment as Tharkay helped him outside. Temeraire was curled so close to the building that the door almost hit his nose when they exited. He was sleeping fitfully, some of the crew tucked against his side.

“Temeraire,” Laurence said softly, touching his snout.

Temeraire opened his great blue eyes. “Laurence,” he breathed out, nosing at him gently. “Are you all right?”

“I do quite well, my dear. Keynes says I’ll be right as rain in a few days.”

“Oh, but Laurence, you ought not to have done it at all! Promise me you will never do such a thing again.”

Laurence hesitated. “I do not wish to lie to you. If the price of your freedom was my life—”

“Oh, how can you say such a thing?” Temeraire demanded. His voice had woken the crew, who weren’t even pretending not to listen again.

“We will speak of this again later. You have my word,” Laurence said firmly. 

Temeraire looked distressed, but only nosed at him again softly.

***

On further reflection, it shouldn’t really have surprised Tharkay to learn that Laurence had _other friends._ Later that afternoon the great clearing in front of the covet had been taken over by other dragons and their captains.

“You great seditious lout,” one of the captains was saying, affectionately slapping the leg of the largest dragon Tharkay had ever seen. “If I do find myself beheaded, it will no doubt be your fault.” 

“Oh, I would never allow it, and neither would Temeraire or Lily,” the great red dragon lamented.

“We certainly would not,” said Temeraire. “Oh, is that Tharkay there? Do come over!”

The other dragons and men looked curiously at Tharkay.

“Who’s this now?” asked the red dragon’s captain.

“Mr. Tharkay—our guide to Alia,” Laurence said easily. He went on to introduce the men—and a woman Tharkay saw with some surprise—and their dragons. “We fly in formation with them during battle.”

“And really I think we ought to be going with you,” the longwing, Lily, was saying. “They're getting bolder—to have attacked you in your own territory is unheard of.

“It is certainly cause for concern, but it means we cannot spare you. You must be here to defend Britania. Come, sit,” Laurence added to Tharkay, gesturing to the space beside him on Temeraire’s leg as the dragons continued to bicker. 

There was such comradery amongst them that Tharaky felt almost an intruder, but he was folded easily into the conversations, and Tharkay could see why Laurence liked them. They treated him like a person, rather than a prince. They addressed him as _Laurence_. 

And, apparently their dragons had formed a pact to defend them from anyone who sought to hurt them—even their own Government. This was quite seditious, but Laurence didn’t seem to mind. 

As time passed, Laurence grew quieter, and seemed to lean slightly against Tharkay. With a start, the man tried to pull away, no doubt realizing what he was doing. “My apologies."

“There’s no need—but we should get you back to bed,” Tharkay said decisively, causing the others to pause and look at him with amusement. 

Laurence sighed but allowed Tharkay to help him to his feet and back toward his chambers. He helped Laurence down onto the bed, resisting the urge to touch him more than was necessary. "Laurence... Surely all dragons know the risk of fighting for their country, as all men do," he began.

"Not this again," Laurence grumbled. "I've already been lectured by Temeraire and Granby.

"Then why?" Tharkay asked.

Laurence stared at him a long moment. "Temeraire isn't like other dragons," he said very softly. "And I will not pretend that he is."

Tharkay didn't understand; clearly Temeraire was different—he was a Celestial after all—but that wasn't what Laurence meant. "I should let you rest." He moved to turn away, but then felt Laurence's hand wrap around his wrist. He froze, his heart beating a staccato rhythm in his chest.

"Will you.. stay a few minutes? I'm too tired to talk but... I would prefer not to be alone."

"Of course," Tharkay answered automatically, sitting down and smiling down at Laurence as the man sighed contently and closed his eyes. 

"Thank you, my friend."


End file.
